From The Western Woods
by ripsofftricks
Summary: Narnia AU. The cold would blow in through open windows but Arthur continued to hope, to see.
1. Chapter 1

_When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone_  
><em> Sits at Cair Paravel in throne,<em>  
><em> The evil time will be over and done. <em>

_—The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe_

1. Lantern Waste

"Be careful, Arthur. The Calormens are scouting in the south."

Arthur looked up, hands stopping to grip the handle of his basket tightly. The faun's eyes looked unnaturally severe in the bright light of morning and all Arthur could do was nod. Thomas, the faun, was his one of his dearest friends, one of the only fey creatures that could bear to live so close to the heart of Lantern Waste. Flinging his dull red scarf over his neck (a family heirloom from the great faun Mr Tumnus, himself), Thomas trotted closer to the table; hooves making sharp thuds against the wooden floorboards.

"Are all these for the patrols?" He asked, voice disbelieving and eyes wide. Arthur hurriedly tugged the cloth over the top of the basket, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

"They're running out of food. The ice is relentless this winter. Their scavengers have come up with nothing," Arthur muttered lowly, justifying himself.

Looking disapproving, Thomas sighed and nodded. Arthur couldn't fault his dear friend's aloofness over the border patrols. The winter this year was taking its toll on what little of Lantern Waste's inhabitants.

The snow drifting down outside seemed so innocuous but Arthur could only imagine how many babes this winter had already been claimed in its cold embrace. The trees shone as the morning sun rose higher in its light blue plane.

"Sometimes I wonder if we're waiting for some foolish event that will never occur," Thomas said softly, fiddling with the ratty end of his woollen scarf. At Arthur's affronted expression, Thomas shrugged before returning to his usual laidback grin, "I know it's a prophecy and all, but how can you go on with such blind faith?" His voice belied no grief, but his mouth had a cruel twist to it.

"It's what I get up for every morning," Arthur said quietly, seriously.

He wasn't lying exactly. But tendrils of resignation were creeping over his heart like the ivy that had crept over his house in the years gone past. It's been a decade since Arthur heard of the prophecy. The prophetess' weakened eyes that turned pale once the last word left her lips; the hopeful prophecy that spoke of the arrival of a son of Adam.

There would be a king.

Unfortunately, there wasn't any sign that the man would be arriving soon. Arthur's heart was starting to grow cold like the frost on his windows. There would be no hope if Lantern Waste was lost.

White flakes were fluttering to the snow-covered forest floor when Arthur and Thomas left the small hut hidden amongst the trees. Thomas bid Arthur a fond goodbye with a hug and an open of his umbrella, leaving Arthur to navigate his way through the trees. Arthur hadn't even murmur a soft 'goodbye' before the faun was lost in the forest.

Arthur remembered when stately women would drift out from these trees, with eyes all-seeing and hair so very dark. And pale young women who would dance around him, silver hair wrapped in stars. And women with olive skin, fingers smooth and smiles genuine.

It was a ten minute walk before the landmark that was the place's namesake came into view. A lamppost glowed orange in the burgeoning light of the day and despite the cold, Arthur couldn't resist a smile at the welcoming sight.

The beloved lamppost had stayed where it was since the beginning of Narnia, through generations of kings and queens, through Narnia's faintly remembered Golden Age all till now. And the flame never went out. Arthur's heart warmed, perhaps it would still be here to herald a new age when Arthur was not.

In his reverie, Arthur had almost missed the shivering bundle huddled just a little ways beside the lamppost, dressed in garishly bright colours. His heart stilled. Nobody in Lantern Waste even owned cloth that bright a colour anymore. War was not a time for luxury, nobody could afford it.

At that very instant, Arthur's heart jumped to the next most logical scenario. They've sent a bird in; a scout to look over the place for vantage points. Not unexpectedly, Arthur's heart jumped with a sudden hatred for the man in the bright red tunic, it must have been years since he's last seen such a colour without the inevitable smell of rust and blood.

_The Calormenes_, Arthur thought in the heat of the moment. _It must be the Calormenes_.

Arthur glared at the bright red tunic that the Calormen was wearing. He didn't seem armed against the biting cold so far up north. _Stupidity_, thought Arthur spitefully, _and arrogance_. It was one of the reasons why the Calormens will never and can never claim Narnia.

Breath catching in his throat, reality sunk in as Arthur's eyes widened. He didn't actually have a way to put down this man. Arthur cursed silently on how he had forgotten to bring his hunting bow out of his hut, or at least a carving knife. Right now, Arthur didn't even have a thick branch to whack this obvious intruder in the head.

The thought of a sentry in Arthur's home, and laying so close to the lamppost, the heart of Lantern Waste… It was like a mocking jeer to everything that Arthur held so dearly in his heart. The gall of them. They have all but been driven back to the corner of Narnia's borders, all they wanted was to protect the entrance of the worlds. All anyone wanted right now was to reclaim their birthright and wait forevermore for their Kings and Queens to return, to bring back the age that Narnians hold dear.

Counting on the large tree to keep him from view of the Calormen, Arthur stared at his hands uselessly before holding back. He would not try. Heading down that path would bring nothing but disappointment and bitterness. An arrow, Arthur was more or less familiar with, but looking down at his hands Arthur felt a rushing wave of resignation. Primitive weapons couldn't feel quite as real as magic flowing from his palms.

But it hadn't been that way for a long time now.

Setting his basket down at the base of the trunk, Arthur squared his shoulders. The Calormen didn't look too attentive. Arthur would take him down from behind. It was a plan.

Sliding out of his hiding spot, Arthur stalked closer to the man sitting under some odd brown cloak, his red tunic bright against all the white. The Calormens sure were getting bolder. Sending a sentry this deep into the woods and under no camouflage, they must be sure they were winning the battle. Arthur breathed deeply at their pig-headed idea and readied his hands to strike the person in the neck.

Barely a feet away from each other, suddenly, there was a flare of red and the man was no longer in sight. Jerking back from the shock, Arthur let his guard down and was tackled from behind.

"Aarg... mmrph."

Arthur's face was being pressed harshly into the snow, the cold melting into his cheeks. His arms were caught and held behind his back in a vice-like grip and he could make no more noise than a faint muffled cry. Thoughts raced through his mind but each idea was no more feasible that the one before. The ridiculous notion that stuck in his mind involved him suddenly sprouting extra limbs and knocking the man off. Without his sight, Arthur's hearing sharpened and there was a small cry of surprise and as soon as it happened, the hold on Arthur loosened and disappeared.

There was a brief moment of decision-making in which Arthur was wondering whether he should get up. On one hand, the man would most certainly kill him when he got to his feet, but this way, he'd get to see his assailant with his dying breath and die with a little dignity. On the other hand if he stayed where he was, the man might think he was dead, or maybe concussed and leave him alone. With the snow slowly melting in Arthur's already numb face, he had to make a choice.

Scrambling to his feet, Arthur got up.

The sight that greeted his eyes was not what he expected. The man didn't look like he wanted to kill him. In fact, he didn't even look Calormen. He didn't have brown skin and dark hair, he didn't have murderous intent. In fact, there wasn't an inch of maliciousness in those bright blue eyes.

"Hello! I'm Alfred!" The young man said, sticking his hand out.

Arthur blanched. He was blonde and had eyes that uncomfortably reminded Arthur of the sky in summer which was still too far away. His mouth was quirked up in a dopey lopsided grin and his gaze regarded Arthur excitedly.

_The man was probably mad_, Arthur thought, staring at the garb he had on. It was snowing heavily this time of the year and the man hadn't a thing on except some flimsy tunic too small for him and trousers too loose.

His hand was also still outstretched. _Yes_, Arthur thought to himself, _the man's quite mad._

On noticing that Arthur wasn't keen on shaking his hand any time soon, Alfred retracted it before smiling brightly at him and bounding over with all the enthusiasm of a puppy. It was only then did Arthur notice that Alfred hadn't. Stopped. Talking.

"I thought you were some yeti or something, or Big-Foot, y'know, in the woods. Didn't mean to tackle you, dude. My bad, sorry about that. No hard feelings 'kay? I was just so cold, man. I didn't even know that the museum had hidden some little jungle in one of their rooms. I mean, I walked around for a bit but then I couldn't find the exit! So I just stuck close to the only thing I was familiar with. This little lamppost right here," Alfred rambled on, thumping the lamppost violently with one of his enormous hands.

"Oi!" Arthur shouted, grabbing Alfred, "Stop doing that. It's a relic!"

"Chill, dude. Everything's a relic 'round here. I didn't break that dinosaur exhibit back over there. I did crack it a little. But what's a little crack? I'm sure the huge thing probably had a fracture sometime in its life. No biggie!" Alfred said cheerfully, from which Arthur didn't understand a thing of.

All of a sudden, the man's eyes grew as big as platters. "Oh yeah! Where's the manners my mom taught me? What's your name?"

"I'm Arthur Kirkland." And before Alfred could cut in again, "You are Alfred. I know!" Arthur snapped back darkly, cutting the boisterous man off before walking back to where he left his basket and picking it up, intent on leaving this idiot where he found him.

"Do you know how to get back?" Alfred asked somewhere behind him, voice a little worried, "I have class this afternoon and two essays to submit before five... Arthur?"

Arthur continued walking, determined on reaching the camp before noon. He had wasted enough time on Alfred and he did want to do something productive before making the journey back home. Hopefully, the man would get hit in the face by some low-hanging branch and keel over. Spirits lifting with his thought, Arthur increased his speed and marched through the snow.

"I just want to know how to get out of the wardrobe! Come on!"

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks. Maybe he said something else. There's no way the alien could be... could be what this land needed. He must have said something else; maybe the name of some far-off land full of dogs with wagging tails or something similar. Alfred soon caught up with him, his heavy footfalls easy to recognise and Arthur turned to face him.

"What did you say?" Arthur asked, tone a lot softer, green eyes staring uneasily up at blue.

Alfred grinned at catching Arthur's attention and his eyes seemed to sparkle like snow did in the sun. Which as any person worth his salt would know that if you look at it long, would cause you snow blindness. Not a good omen.

"I came through the wardrobe! Though I have to say, this is a pretty big exhibit..." Alfred trailed off, staring at the trees, gaudy shoes kicking at the powdery snow.

On hearing the words repeated again. Arthur's face and heart fell. The High King and his siblings all hailed from the land of the War-Drobe in Narnia's most trying times. Arthur looked at Alfred intently, not believing. For the first time in ten years, Arthur didn't want to believe.

He was barely a boy, despite his height. Youth and naivety lingered in all corners of his face and he didn't look as if he had an inch of experience with a weapon. Arthur shuddered to think what he would do when handed with the High King Peter's favoured sword. There was only one way to confirm it. Heart pounding in his chest, Arthur looked down at his hands and allowed himself the faintest bit of hope.

Silvery swirls shot from his hands before Arthur could bring himself to put them down. He could conjure magic again. The glistening grey mist twirling around his hands like it was never gone, never taken away for all those years. He had forgotten how the warmth seemed to spread out through his body whenever he used it. He had forgotten.

All those years feeling useless and bitter over his powers and now they were restored to him. It was like Arthur's identity was being returned to him. The sun peaked out behind some branches; it had already reached its peak.

Smiling softly in disbelief, Arthur looked back up at Alfred who was staring at him incredulously.

The man didn't look a day over twenty and he was the chosen one. Yet, Arthur couldn't bring himself to feel betrayed at what Aslan had given them. His hands were warm and his body was alive. Whoever Alfred was, Arthur owed him a lifetime for returning to him his gifts. He barely knew the man for five minutes and he was already indebted to him. Arthur's heart tugged queasily.

"Come. We have to get you to the camps."

_Break_


	2. Chapter 2

_"Safe_?" _said Mr_. _Beaver_. "_Don't you hear_ what _Mrs_. _Beaver tells you_?  
><em>Who said anything<em> about _safe_? '_Course he isn't safe._  
><em>But he's good<em>. _He's_ the _King_, I _tell you_.

__—The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe__

2. The Western Woods

The small clearing in the woods were filled with roughly-hewn shelters and tents. It pained Arthur's heart to see that wooden poles and rope were all but keeping the living quarters of the entire woodland fey alive. At the mouth of a few entrances, there hung faded banners of a red lion against an emerald green.

There was no denying what this place stood for.

There was a cold hand at his shoulder and Arthur refrained from cursing a blue streak at Alfred who just caught up, panting heavily. When the man had righted himself, there was an odd look of worry in his expression. "I'm not in a room at the museum, am I?" Alfred asked bemusedly, hands rubbing at his frozen arms.

For a moment, Arthur felt deeply sorry for Alfred. He didn't look like he had any idea where he was and what his destiny entailed that he do. There was a tired grimace on his face and he was still hunched over to protect himself from the dreadful chill.

"Let's get you to shelter, shall we?" Arthur asked, changing the subject, to a grateful nod from Alfred.

Such tenderness was absurd; he was treating his future king like a child. And yet, he didn't have the heart to break it to Alfred that he was to stay here for the long run, or until Aslan deems it fit to release the boy from his duty, back to his world. For a moment, Arthur wondered who the man must have left behind, a sibling perhaps, or maybe a lover, someone who cares about him, who loves him.

Arthur wondered what Alfred was thinking now.

What had seemed to be an afternoon out with nothing to do, proved to be more than a bit of excitement for Alfred. The snow had already thoroughly melted into his jacket and his skin was starting to feel the uncomfortable dampness from his shirt. Whenever a strong wind blew past, he had to grit his teeth to resist chatter.

Alfred would be lying if he said that he didn't find Arthur a tad interesting. The man was as temperamental as the sea. One moment, he'd be calm and smiling so sweetly, the next moment and he'd be snapping irritably with a frown befitting a woolly mammoth. Alfred focused on Arthur. The minute he thought about where he was, his heart settled deep in his throat and a heavy weight settled about him.

They made their way across the tents. A hush soon fell over the camp and Arthur felt himself uncomfortable by the curious stares of fauns, satyrs, centaurs, talking beasts and many others who had joined their little force. His destination in his mind, Arthur held that much tighter to his basket and looked resolutely ahead. A certain someone though, was not helping, Arthur thought menacingly as Alfred was prodded Arthur's side, hissing statements that were completely unhelpful.

"They're staring at us!"

"Did you eat all their food last time you were here?"

"Jesus, that boy looks a bit weird..."

"Wait a minute, are those talking rabbits?"

The man never stopped! Arthur kept silent, in the vain hope that his icy demeanour would put the man off. No such luck. With a quick "I'll protect you!" Alfred flanked Arthur to the left, shoulders drawn protectively, in a pitiful attempt to look frightening. Arthur said nothing. Snapping at him for this would be equivalent to kicking a young child making silly faces.

Fortunately, the tent was already in sight, hidden between cooking pots and washing lines strewn around it. Arthur ducked beneath the tent flaps, grabbing Alfred's hand and pulling him in as well. The people deserve to be rewarded for their faith. Arthur's heart pounded against his chest as his mind went to the owner of the rough hands that were currently in his.

"Arthur?"

The first thing he caught sight of was a head of long dark hair and it wasn't long before he felt a pair of warm arms encircle him. Chuckling lightly at the welcome, Arthur remarked, "I've brought along a little something for you." before setting his basket down onto the floor of the tent.

Pulling back from him, Edie smiled serenely and pushed her dark hair away from her face. Even without saying, Arthur could already hear her saying that he should drop by more often. The she-centaur looked about as beautiful as she always had but it was apparent to Arthur that things were taking a hit. There was less of a sparkle to that blue-green gaze and her smile didn't stretch as wide as it had before.

Nevertheless, she still looked radiant. Arthur could feel Alfred's hold tighten when he caught sight of Edie. She is very beautiful, Arthur admitted uncomfortably, anyone who looked at Edie and didn't see the very epitome of perfection was as good as blind. As far as Arthur knew, the Son of Adam wasn't blind and if he was, he still had enough vision to be amazed.

Alfred's other hand flew up to his neck, rubbing it incredulously and self-consciously. _She was beautiful_, he thought. Her wavy brown hair and big dark eyes were twinkling at him politely. She was dressed in thick armour, steel and fur. But below her hips… it was a horse's body. Her coat was shiny and tanned, hooves plated with shiny metal. Alfred wondered if there was more of her kind around.

Underlying nausea aside, Alfred couldn't reconcile that he was not, in fact, sleeping.

Smiling happily at Edie, Arthur was content at having seen again one of his oldest friends. His smile also brightened somewhat when he saw who was in the same tent. Behind her, a blond man plucked at a few strings on his lyre, seemingly uninterested in their visitors' arrival. His pale blonde hair was pulled back to a ponytail and he stared up at Arthur lazily.

"I'm surprised they haven't scrapped that thing for more firewood," Arthur said offhandedly, pointing at the lyre, leading to a perfectly arched eyebrow and a frown from Francis. The wanker.

Edie patted Arthur's back, "Don't let him get to you. He's been this moody ever since the last patrol came back wounded."

Arthur's heart jolted. "I'm so sorry."

Arthur, feeling more than a bit sorry for teasing Francis for something that was beyond his ken and for yet more lives being sacrificed, changed the subject, "Thomas sends his regards. There's wine in the basket."

As expected, Francis leapt up from his seat and rummaged around the basket before emerging with the flask full of wine that Thomas was known in most circles for making. The wine was known to be sweet and smelled like the coming of summer, with just the right amount of tart. Shooting a grateful grin towards Arthur, Francis stood up and circled around Alfred, drink conveniently in hand.

Arthur and Edie watched as he walked around Alfred who was looking like a deer caught out by a hunting party. Francis, the cheeky bastard, had started sniffing around Alfred like some sort of hound with a scent in mind. "Who's this then?" Francis asked, smile lascivious but with a barely hidden layer of suspicion underneath. "He doesn't smell like he's from the woods."

"All of you had better sit down," Arthur said carefully, keeping his eye on Alfred who was looking more panicky by the second. Honestly, Arthur wondered if he would handle this better if he was in Alfred's shoes. Alfred must have had a defunct fight or flight instinct because instead of doing either, he kept his eyes trained on Arthur, expression still dazed.

The butterflies in his stomach at the mere thought that the time had come for change was terrifying. With a glance, Arthur would never have imagined that the crown would now rest on this stranger's golden head, but the warmth and static in his hands was no lie. They had their man and they had their hope. All they need is a five thousand more people and maybe they'd have a shot at winning this, Arthur thought wryly. _Hopefully._

Alfred slumped down on fur and took a blanket to wrap it around his shoulders, eyeing Arthur. He'd obviously been cold and hungry all the while and Arthur blamed himself on having completely forgotten the other person's needs in lieu of his own excitement. Hind legs folded gracefully, Edie lowered herself to the floor, looking at Arthur in concern. His solemn request hadn't gone unnoticed.

Putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder, Francis said, "Speak in peace, my friend."

With all eyes on him, Arthur stretched out one of his hands, turning it palm-side up. With a single thought, a lick of flame flared out above Arthur's hand, distorting the air above it with the sudden heat. Arthur closed his palm, suddenly feeling extremely exhausted.

"It's back," Francis said quietly, icy blue eyes boring into Arthur.

"Which means," Edie said, gaze flicking over to Alfred before looking obscenely happy. "I would wish that we had more resources... This is not a good time but, but, I can't believe he is finally here. Oh, Arthur!"

Pleased that Edie was taking the news well, Arthur turned back to stare warily at Alfred. He must do what the great Beavers have done all those years ago.

Turning to smile at Alfred, Edie bowed her head, much to his surprise. Francis nodded his recognition, his hand still warm on Arthur's shoulder and his face very grave. Arthur held Alfred's gaze stiffly as he explained the prophecy that they've all heard of ten years ago.

And with his voice low and gentle, Arthur began.

"Alfred, do you know where you are?" Arthur asked him gently, tiredly.

"I'm not made of glass, Arthur," Alfred grumbled, his eyes flashing angrily, "I know where I'm not. Just tell me where I am."

For a brief moment then, Arthur could believe it. Alfred was angry and frustrated and it was frankly quite surprising to see the good humour leave Alfred's face. It was dark now, Alfred's eyes still boring into Arthur's, stare having dropped the mesmerised look.

"You are in Narnia, Alfred. The prophecy foretells of the saviour of our age coming through Lantern Waste. The lamppost where you were at? It's the closest landmark to the entrance of our land from yours, the War-Drobe."

"You're all mad. I went to look in a wardrobe. It's not a country, it's a closet," Alfred said quietly, flinching away from Arthur who was trying to comfort him.

"Aslan works in mysterious ways," Edie replied gently, sensing his distress.

Arthur continued, "Look around you Alfred. Everything that you see is Narnia. Trust me, Alfred, I'm not lying and this isn't a dream."

"Why are you telling me this?" Alfred asked lowly. His mind was in a whirl. He knew he wasn't in the museum any longer but it was one thing to have a quiet realisation and another to have the fact acknowledged in words. He didn't want to believe it.

"You are my king, Alfred," Arthur said resolutely, "and we need you to sit at the throne in Cair Paravel once again. Aslan, the son of the Emperor-Over-The-Sea. He sang this world into existence and it is he that brought you to us, to me."

Arthur knew that surely now, Alfred would already be thinking that they were crazy. But it is of utmost importance that he believes; that he understands why and how he is here. Why he is a gift to Narnia, and to Arthur. Why, somehow, Arthur's powers were taken as ransom for his absence.

"What?"

"You have seen that we are in hiding. We are all hiding from the Calormenes. They do not dare to pierce the forests for we may summon the trees to our side and then they'd surely fall. But, this is our last refuge and even then, we are slowly weakening. They have taken our land and all we want is our beloved country back."

Arthur's voice was getting higher and more distressed and Alfred absolutely refused to look into his eyes in fear of what he might find. There were warm hands holding his shoulders and shaking him slightly, a voice whispering "Alfred, Alfred please."

Shocked, Edie pulled Arthur back from the Son of Adam. She didn't know what had exactly happened but the atmosphere at suddenly dipped into a tense desperate air. One moment, Arthur was softly conversing with Alfred and the next he was right in front of the man, brows furrowed with frustration.

She didn't really think that Alfred would disagree. The Son of Adam was older than the four Kings and Queens when they had first come. Perhaps it was more difficult to accept the harsh change of surroundings the older these folk got.

"I want to help all of you," Alfred replied, voice uncertain, gaze returning to meet Arthur's awkwardly. "But I highly doubt I am the man you're looking for. I don't know this place and much less all of you. I am not joining a religious cult. You guys probably don't even have guns."

Not understanding a word, Arthur rushed to amend. "You will have a sword, to practice with before we make our way to Cair Paravel to retrieve the High King Peter's sword. It is with that that you will win the battle."

Alfred lifted his gaze to meet Arthur's. "I can't get out, huh?" he asked with false bravado, "But I can't go anywhere else."

It sounded so false, so afraid but his word was his word. Edie looked like she never doubted for a moment that the man would resist anyway. Aslan wouldn't have chosen one who wasn't free-spirited and brave. It was just that spark of courage amidst the terror that assured Edie that this was the man who would one day sit at the head of the table at the white castle close to the seashore.

The tent was deathly silent for a great many moments afterwards. Edie, herself, had gone out to converse with the others and Arthur expected that they would have to leave the quiet sanctuary of the tent soon. Her hazel eyes had conveyed a great many things to Arthur.

Sheer happiness was at the forefront, pure unbridled hope. Arthur didn't think he had ever seen her so incandescently joyous. Before she left, she couldn't stop herself throwing a bright grin at Alfred who could only manage a feeble quirk of his lips in turn. Arthur could only imagine what was running through his head right now.

Francis had left to go lay down in the far corner, citing too much excitement. His slender form was curled up on a bed mat, curled up upon himself. He had looked very detached when he left their company and Arthur could sense his discomfort at Alfred's presence. There were definitely going to be a few who would not take the arrival of their future king well, especially with their current predicament. Nevertheless, Arthur could admire the elegant way that he was dealing with it, leaving the both of them with an awkward hug (Alfred) and a brief kiss to the cheek (Arthur).

Francis did not say a thing during the excruciating conference a moment ago. But Arthur did notice the pained stare directed at him throughout the entire ordeal. Alfred's arrival meant something to him, the both of them.

Alfred was sitting directly opposite of Arthur; they were chatting lightly. The man was asking questions about Narnia and divulging a little about his life before stumbling upon it.

"Do you think I'll ever be able to get back?" Alfred asked, pulling on a coat that Arthur had thrown to him moments before with a small smile. "I don't think you have ice-cream here."

"Believe in Aslan. He'll do what he can, he always does, in the end," Arthur replied patiently.

"Believe in a talking lion?" Alfred laughed before he grew quiet. "I suppose I'm just gonna have to. There's not much else I can do here, is there?"

Arthur wanted to retort. He wanted to say that there is plenty to do. That they still had to kick this whole rebellion thing off. They had to organise a plan, get enemy intelligence and Alfred still had to master the use of the sword; specifically, a sword that was still in the deserted Cair Paravel, miles from where they are now. Not to mention that this 'talking lion' was the creator of the entire world that they were living, walking, breathing in now. That this 'talking lion' had once crowned the four kings and queens at their thrones in Narnia's prime.

"I miss the ice-cream. It was summer back there. There were ice-cream stands everywhere and girls in summer dresses and the ice-cream..."

Arthur scoffed but left Alfred to his constant talking. Arthur didn't know what it would feel like to be wrenched from his home and deposited into a land where there was an imminent war, but it must not have been pleasant. Alfred's blue eyes were trained on the floor, mouth in a thin line before he asked yet another question. Nay, more a statement. "You think that I'm the one who's going to return your country back to you."

Arthur nodded in confirmation.

"How can you be sure?" he asked, frowning.

"I'm not, but I believe," Arthur replied simply, faithfully. "A son of Adam will reclaim the High King Peter's seat at Cair Paravel at the close of Narnia's first age."

"But me?"

"Trust me when I say that not many sons of Adam from the land of the War-Drobe come to Narnia. The visits of your people are as common as Aslan returning over the sea and they always, always mean something for Narnia."

Alfred nodded, eyes returning to their dim and weary gaze.

"Don't look so wretched! You have the support of all the true Narnians that are in oppression. We have been waiting a long time for you. And now you're here!" Arthur said; face resplendent, "You inspire love from all of us simply because we know that you will fight for us. And that we know that you will win."

Alfred looked taken aback before smiling, "No pressure or anything…"

Francis stirred from his corner before chipping in, "That is, of course, our ever faithful Arthur's point of view. Many Narnians may share his blind belief in you but you still have to prove yourself to the rest, king."

But Alfred was persuaded. His warm hands grabbed Arthur's cold ones and he could feel the cold melting away from his skin. "Thank you, Arthur."

Alfred's eyes were a bright strong blue once more and he had regained his dazzling toothy smile, this time with all the more dazzle. Arthur blinked slightly and flushed at the unexpected display of affection, unsure whether it was embarrassment at his own declaration or Alfred's apparent thanks.

Maybe a bit of both.

_Break_


	3. Chapter 3

_ "In our world," said Eustace, "a star is a huge ball of flaming gas."_  
><em> "Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is, but only what it is made of."<em>

___—__The Voyage of the Dawn Treader  
><em>

3. The Western Woods

The light was setting quickly over the woods, dark shadows elongating on the soft snowy floor. Everyone was gathering to prepare a small little bonfire to celebrate the arrival of their future king. They rolled out the kegs slowly and silently, it was hard to see exactly _why_ they were celebrating. _Formality_, Arthur thought, _they want to see his face_.

The night sky would hopefully conceal the signs of their fire and it was hoped that the Calormenes would not spy it. All the sentries and patrols have been given the night off and called back home to receive Alfred, and Arthur could clearly see the loads being lifted off their backs. Arthur knew that they deserved a break, and yet, he felt this nagging feeling that Edie was leaving all of them open.

The men who trickled back to camp looked exhausted and filthy with grime. Those with partners were enveloped by tight squeezes and relieved smiles. Those without stumbled to the fires or walked with each other, companionship found there instead.

Arthur ducked back under the tent, shivering lightly at the chill. The sky was darkening, he should have been back at his little cottage now. With a small and warm fire as he dozed off to sleep in front of it, a well-loved book in his lap. Unfortunately, he had a sinking feeling that he wouldn't be seeing his house for quite a long while.

_This isn't the time for daydreaming_, Arthur reprimanded himself before grabbing his extra coat (borrowed from Francis). Putting on another layer on, Arthur tried hard not to be appreciative at how the sleeves fell past his wrists.

Alfred was wearing clothes on loan from Francis as well. Needless to say, Francis wasn't best pleased with loaning out so many of his clothes. However, Alfred looked considerably different decked out in Narnian garb, Arthur thought, eyeing the man. The wool trousers were still tight on him and the tunic pulled tight around his shoulders but they, at the very least, offered him better protection against the cold than his previous flimsy clothes.

Alfred's current tunic was also red, albeit more faded, and Edie had tossed him a dusty old coat she got from one of the Narnians when Francis' own hadn't fit. The stubborn creature had also flat-out refused to wear proper shoes, insisting that his old ones were fine. Arthur looked at the blue-streaked white things dubiously.

"How do I look?" Alfred asked, tone still apprehensive. He looked like a bird in a cage; jumpy and nervous.

"Handsome. Now, come on. They are all very excited to meet you." Arthur replied curtly, guiding Alfred out of the tent.

There was another hushed silence as they walked closer to the fire. Creatures of all sorts were clamouring over each other to get a better look but none ever daring to come too close. There weren't any benches around the fire and all they could really afford to do was to sit on mats close to the beautiful warmth of the blaze.

Alfred looked sick to the stomach, and the smile he had plastered to his face looked more like a grimace than anything else. Arthur had only belatedly noticed that the man had his fingers digging deep into his lower arm.

"Calm down, Alfred," Arthur said. Alfred glanced back at him with a worried frown before relinquishing his grip. "This was all done for you. The least you could do is to actually enjoy it."

Alfred nodded, faint terror still lingering in his eyes as Arthur sat down beside Francis on a mat, indicating for Alfred to do the same. Both their gazes looked cold with worry even with the flames reflected in them. Arthur sighed and sat between them, waiting for Edie to address them all and start this small event. _The dancing_, Arthur thought, _the dancing would cheer everyone up._

Edie had trotted in with more firewood, setting the veritable stack to the side of the fire to be thrown in later. She looked calm as she strode to the middle of the circle, fire at her back. Her bronze pelt gleaming and her shoulders relaxed, she turned to face Alfred. She gave them all a small smile before gracing Alfred with a nod.

The man stood to his feet and walked slowly to Edie. Alfred's arms were strapped tightly to his sides and he wore an uneasy expression, eyes staring out at all the others. Edie smiled at him again and took his hand in hers before she started with the opening address. Shadows were flickering across both their faces now, making grotesque masks out of their features. As the snow started to fall lightly across the place, it had felt almost magical.

"Fellow Narnians, we have gathered around here to celebrate the guest that our dear friend, Arthur, has brought us. He has come from a faraway place and has had to take the afternoon to rest and regain his energy," Edie said, face laughing and bright amongst the darkness. Arthur had to try not to point out that Alfred had only walked the distance from the lamppost to the clearing. Barely.

"As all of you know, a prophecy was made years ago about a man that would descend from the mysterious lamppost and come to save us. It was our hope whom we clung to in the darkest nights and bloodiest hours," Edie announced fiercely, "It was the belief that Aslan would deliver us from servitude."

"This story has been in the hearts of every Narnian driven into hiding. The man who will bring us freedom, my friends," Edie said to the enraptured crowd, "is beside me at the current moment. He has come to help us like we foretold he would. He has come at last."

The people were silent, some sloshing their already filled tankards with whatever ale that they have managed to make or procure, brought out tonight in celebration. But there was no cheering, no hooting, just a noiseless and awkward void.

The attention slowly shifted to Alfred who was looking around himself at all the eyes staring back at him. They all believed that he would lead them to freedom. Suddenly, the nagging fear and doubt and disbelief at the back of Alfred's mind rushed to the surface, choking him down.

"Would you like to say something to all of us?" Edie asked, turning to him.

Alfred stared out at everyone. He could barely make out the vague shapes of those huddled in the back but he was sure that they'd be watching him too. All of them would be watching when he slipped up or failed, or worse, when he would undoubtedly cost innocent blood to be shed. He couldn't say anything. He had a million and one thoughts rushing through his head but he couldn't utter a single word. He didn't remember a time when he couldn't shut up and now they were practically throwing centre stage at him. Alfred's throat was clamming up.

_Dear god_, Alfred thought, eyes still darting everywhere. It was akin to being thrown into a fantasy film he had used to watch at the cinemas. But this was real, Alfred reminded himself, palms sweating. This was all too real. A small girl upon noticing his stare, shyly waved at him, her hair entwined with small flowers and leaves.

Alfred' heart dropped.

Unexpectedly, Alfred felt his heart swell up and suddenly everywhere he looked, he saw more of these small fragile figures nestled among the others. It was hard to imagine what dire straits must all these good people be if they had to take their precious children to a camp readied for war.

Their childhood spent among worries and restraint, never running too far or too wide in fear of never returning at all. It felt inherently wrong. Children should never be exposed to this.

Alfred remembered the distinct earthy smell of his mother, the smell of soil back in the fields; the taste of apple pie with ice-cream every Saturday night; the swing of her skirts when she dallied around the house.

The doctors had said it was exhaustion, had said that it was more of a struggle keeping up with both Matthew and Alfred. They said that her body had decided she had required a sleep to recharge, a sleep she'll never wake from.

Alfred remembered leaving that red bricked house with the white picket fence and blue forget-me-nots behind when the mistress of the place had gone. Alfred remembered his last thought as he lugged his suitcase out the door, _forget me not_.

Alfred remembered the promise he made, right there and then as he left. He wouldn't shirk responsibility any more. There was no one else to make sure that he was fine or that Matthew was fine. Just as there was no one to account for these people, there was no one who wanted them.

"I am your king."

The sentence had rung clear; a stagnant silence as loud as a roar following it. It took a moment for Alfred to realise that yes, the voice was his. And with four words, he had declared his responsibility. Alfred momentarily wondered if his mother would be proud.

"If they will not yield, we will fight. We shall have to," Alfred said, his vision blurring as he considered the consequence of his statement. But the Narnians appeared to welcome it for they responded with rambunctious cheering, the first in the night. There were fists in the air and voices shouting. "I know nothing about strategy or fighting, but they tell me that I'm here to help all of you. I will try my best."

Alfred stood rooted to the spot, feeling rather odd before Edie guided him back to the mat, pushing him with her hand. He had just basically declared battle. He had declared war on the Calormenes. War. That was led by him. War.

Alfred had barely plopped down onto the mat dazedly before Francis was in his face, hissing, "What are you playing at, Son of Adam?"

"Wha-"

There wasn't even a moment for the fact to sink in. Everything seemed to be passing in slow motion and all Alfred could actually hear was his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He didn't know what he said, he didn't think. But somehow, deep in his belly, there was this feeling of rightness. There was to be war, there had to be war. It felt correct. Like he had basically just said aloud what everyone was thinking in their consciousness. He had arrived just this morning and to feel this way about a group of strangers he had never met before? It was frightening.

For the first time in his life, Alfred felt like he understood something far more complicated than he could comprehend. And he was fine with that.

"You do realise what you have just did. What you have said to all of them," Francis said, trembling with anger, "Do not promise us things that you don't know how to fulfill, Alfred! I cannot believe what you have just done! They all think that we are finally taking action against the Calormenes. They expect it now, even! We do not have the manpower! The resources! We have nothing, Alfred! Do you understand that? Nothing!"

Francis' hisses were low and silent but he had forced Alfred to look around the camp, fingers grabbing Alfred's jaw roughly, causing the man to growl in retaliation. In the night, all the tents suddenly looked all the more tiny, dilapidated, broken. But in front of them, the Narnians had begun to dance around the fire, moving to their own imaginary beat. Old lutes and mandolins were being whipped out and played a jaunty tune. There were toothy grins and high flushes. Ash and embers filled the air as someone threw in another bunch of firewood.

"He's right, Alfred," Edie added softly. "You shouldn't have done that. It was foolish of you."

"They can't stay here for long," Alfred replied decisively, voice low and firm. This was right. He had done something right. "There are children. Do you want them to live their childhood in a dangerous secluded camp deep in the forests?"

"Yes," Francis bit out, eyes accusing and cutting, "Yes, they should be. I was there when Shuddering Wood was lost; do not lecture me. What matters is that right now, they are safe! And so is everyone!" Francis pulled to his feet before striding away and with a last withering glare, disappeared in the crowd that had formed close to the blazing bonfire.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Arthur said quietly as he sat down, handing a shocked Alfred a tankard. "You should enjoy yourself. Tonight's for you."

Alfred turned his head, words streaming out of his mouth, "I don't know what I did wrong, now. There are children here! Children. And all of you just seem to be content to sit there and do nothing about it. Well, the Narnians want to fight for themselves!"

Edie had merely shaked her head slowly, patted Alfred before clopping off to find her beau who was waiting by the fire with his hand out. His face was solemn and harsh, but softened upon the joining of their hands before they too joined the circle of dancing.

Arthur said nothing, content to watch people flit about the circle, getting more intoxicated with drink than they have ever let themselves be before. The golden flickering light of the fire shone brashly over everyone, like a feral creature striking every victim mercilessly. The Narnians threw themselves into abandon, swaying and darting around so carefree. It was hard to believe that they were dancing for battle. Arthur wondered if they would all look this graceful with weapons grasped heavy in their hands.

It was a long time before Arthur spoke again, his voice a hum amid the noise. "We make war so that we may live in peace. I understand your noble intentions, but Francis has his reasons."

Alfred slumped down in petulance. "Why do you all agree with Francis? Look at them, they're dancing in celebration! Because we are finally doing something in retaliation! A lot of good you have done them, letting them rot in here, hiding like rats." Alfred's tone was barbed and angry, already frayed nerves and temper building to a crescendo.

"What do you think will happen when we ride out for open battle, Alfred?" Arthur asked, a regretful look in his eyes.

Alfred went silent. He had studied History, he knew what happened in the World Wars, what happened in all the wars dating back to the start of civilisation. There would be bloodshed, and then a side would win or an uneasy stalemate would be struck.

And then Arthur continued, voice harder, "You do it for the children. But if we ride out during the winter, their parents would surely be slaughtered. Pray tell me, what will then happen to the young ones? I understand what you mean, Alfred, and I believe in you. But, I beg of you to seek counsel before next making a declaration like that."

Alfred's heart plummeted. This camp was a doubled-edges sword. Stay, and be killed later; fight, and be killed now. Alfred's knowledge of the place was filled with large gaping holes. He didn't understand why they were here, what happened. But something that he did understand was the pitying look in Arthur's eyes.

Standing up, Arthur gave Alfred a small smile. "Don't lose faith, love. Your heart is in the right place and in these times, that's all that makes a Narnian now." The way Arthur's green eyes looked in the firelight left a stirring warmth deep in Alfred's stomach and he got to his feet as well, joining the circle of dancers.

The throng of Narnians lost in the moment were embarrassing; they were slumped over with ale and exhaustion, not caring about the loose decorum that had guarded them before. But even Arthur couldn't grudge them their night. Having more important things on his plate tonight, Arthur carefully side-stepped the creatures already down for the night and left the clearing, headed for the tents.

Francis was in front of his own, a small little shelter, faced towards the forests than against them. He was shivering in the cold as he gulped down the wine that he had claimed in the afternoon, bottle held tight in his grip. In the starlight, Arthur could almost fathom what Francis' mother might have looked like. Tall, pale and exquisite, with eyes as cold as her son's.

"What are you doing here?" Francis asked flatly, mien unpleasant and bitter.

Arthur lay down beside him, "I'm here to remember the brave and fallen."

"He was a fool," Francis stated.

"He is right though. There is no other way. The longer we wait, the lesser our chances."

"They will die, Arthur," Francis said, voice strained, "They will all die."

"How did she die?" Arthur knew his question was bold but tonight didn't seem the time for unnecessary pleasantries and delicate sensibilities. There was a long easy silence between them and for a moment, Arthur thought that Francis would not answer. The forests were calm and serene. The bleed-over noise from the bonfire was like a universe away, a whole other world.

"She fell and she vanished."

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement but he didn't offer his condolences. He would never know the person that Francis had always held so dearly and he never would, pretending to be would just be an insult.

Rolling over, Arthur gave Francis a kiss on damp cheeks before curling up on himself, intending very much to spend the night outside in the freezing cold with nothing but a bed mat and a blanket. Soon enough, Arthur heard the bottle being set aside and distant warmth beside him. If Francis appreciated the company, he certainly made no note of it.

It was an eternity before Arthur closed his eyes and rested. All his years living here and he had never once stopped to look up at night sky before. He never gave much thought about it back then. But now, Arthur noticed that the stars did shine so brightly in the Western Woods, shining like gods and goddesses up there in their celestial plane.

Each of them echoing their own lost songs of bravery and treachery, of stories long lost to mortal ears, a lullaby to sing him to his sleep.

_Break_


	4. Chapter 4

_"If you had felt yourself sufficient, it would have been a proof that you were not."_

____—__Prince Caspian  
><em>_

4. Allies' Enclave

Alfred swung the sword around experimentally, his eyes flashing with delight as he spun around like quicksilver and brought the weapon down heavily. Arthur could only watch in disapproval. He wasn't particularly good at combat but even Arthur knew that if Alfred carried on hacking wildly like this, he'd lose his energy for later.

"No, Alfred," Edie explained gently as she righted Alfred's stance again, kicking his legs apart sharply. "You need to strike with less force and more fluidity." With her words, she leapt forward and sliced at the air efficiently, a hiss coming from the displaced air just where her sword was held moments before. "The blade is sharp. You need less strength and more skill. You have to practice more."

Alfred sighed and nodded before trudging back to the targets and whacking at them, perhaps with less vigour than before. His sweat glistened in the sunlight and his muscles thrummed beneath his skin. There was an ache building up between his shoulders and his wrist was causing his grip to slacken with every hit. The straw targets in front of him stared blankly back, painted-on eyes holding less enthusiasm than a potato.

He heard a sigh and a clopping of hooves before relaxing. Edie had gone back to camp, which she frequently had to leave for. All Alfred had to do was to try cutting a straw man in the privacy of this place before returning to the clearing for his meals and rest. It was definitely different from running on a treadmill for two hours every few days.

"Your sword is held too tight," Arthur commented idly, sitting in the shade of a tree close by. "You have to spin the sword around, Alfred. You're not running into battle with some blunt battle-axe. Our swords are sharp, but once we bring back the High King's, there won't be a man you cannot slice through."

"I'm holding a sword with one hand and a shield in the other," Alfred replied tightly, "I don't want to drop them."

Arthur scoffed, "Why does that matter? You never use that shield anyhow. You let it hang loosely like some dead fish flopping about."

Alfred brought his shield up closer to his chest in defines, scowling at Arthur who looked so comfortable just lazing about in the shade and cool. He looked at the straw target in front of him, and with a resentful look, loosened his grip on the iron hilt of the great sword. His wrist sang in relief but his arm was now crying in protest. There was just no pleasing anything today, is there?

"Twist your wrist and just push," Arthur said, sending gentle blasts of wind around the clearing. "The straw gives quite easily when you stop hitting at them from the shoulders and just aim for the middle."

Alfred did what he was told and he was surprised to see that the blade passed through the middle of the straw target fluidly, the sharp tip just sinking in and cutting through the straw fibres like snapped threads. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist shaking his sword around roughly (much to the chagrin of Arthur) and making a sizeable dent in the target before pulling out, jerking the sword back dangerously.

"Maybe you're an arrow person... Francis could help you with them." Arthur said, looking at the target.

"If you think that I can take a stick and shoot it properly to kill someone then obviously you're insane," Alfred said, resuming his slightly better attacks on the other targets that were still holding strong. Arthur snorted and walked back to the shade under the tree.

The sun had moved a fraction across the blue skies when Alfred dropped his sword and headed towards Arthur, tired and sore. Arthur had momentarily ceased patting piles of snow down in boredom to watch the man stumble his way. His every clumsy move reeked of exhaustion but his smile was still keen, albeit weary. Looking out towards the targets, Arthur saw that each of them had a big hole in their middle. Best to get someone to stuff them up later, he thought.

It was so weird, Alfred thought hazily, watching the bright green eyes watch him in turn. He had never thought Arthur could look this relaxed and he said as much. Dropping beside Arthur on the cold ground, Alfred hissed as the ice seeped through his clothes to cool his heated skin.

Arthur waved his hand nonchalantly in response. "It's the sun. We don't get much sun around this time."

Alfred hoped the sun would shine through the clouds every single day if it got that soft smile to stay on Arthur's face. His fingers had returned to playing with the snow, drawing fiddly symbols before rubbing them out with his palm. There was a wistful look about him and Alfred wondered if Arthur would look this way after they had won; just lying around, looking every bit as pliant as a supple branch and with that delicately contented shine in his eyes.

Heart beating against his chest, Alfred put it down to the exercise and crawled over to put his head on Arthur's lap, with no resistance from the man himself. Alfred closed his eyes.

It was a sharp rap on the knee that brought Alfred back from the land of slumber. The first thing he saw was an extremely displeased Francis glaring down at him, his head blocking the glowing light from the sun. Arthur looked down at him and shrugged, still smiling beatifically, a direct opposite to the stare Francis was sending down to him which was getting icier by the second.

Alfred lifted his head with an unhappy groan, feeling the comfortable warmth already starting to leave him. Francis gave him a kick which got Alfred up to his feet with offense. Francis handed the abandoned sword back to him, the metal freezing and unpleasant.

"I don't have high expectations," Francis sniped. "But sleeping? Really now, you declared a battle just yesterday. Slipped your mind, prince?"

"I'm not a prince, I'm from New York," Alfred bit out, fingers tightening on the hilt.

"I don't care where you're from," Francis replied sharply. "Edie asked me to come back here because she has so much to do. I'm not idling about either, but I'm not about to stay to let you slack off, much less to watch you bumble about."

"Francis," Arthur said, voice dipping warningly. The previous atmosphere of lazy comfort was gone. Everyone was alert, awake and painfully sombre. Alfred looked at the ground sourly. The moment Francis had arrived, everything fell to pieces, Alfred thought sullenly. Sword-play be damned, all Alfred wanted to do right now was to lie down somewhere and take another nap.

Francis looked back at Arthur and sighed, "I'm assuming you'd prefer to stick with your big knife then?" Alfred nodded, his fingers tightening on his sword before he remembered Arthur's advice. Francis snorted derisively at his answer but acquiesced, putting down the bow and quiver slung across his back and drawing his sword.

They circled each other warily, footsteps muffled by the snow. Alfred was slightly stunned by the sheer animosity that was projected at him. There wasn't an inch of give in Francis' hard gaze, calculating and anticipating his every move. Alfred guessed that on the battlefield, nobody was going to smile at him so he had better get used to it now. Nevertheless, it didn't make the thing seem any less unnerving.

As they went on, Alfred got more heated as Francis parried, feinted and lunged all with startling accuracy. If this was how everybody fought, Alfred wasn't going to last two seconds out in open fighting. The sharp blade would always stop short of skin, usually followed with a curt reminder and then it would happen all over again.

By the time they were done (when Francis allowed Alfred to take a break), Alfred's shoulders were stiff and his arms, aching. Arthur looked at him with poorly-concealed pity. "He's angry today," was the only explanation Alfred got. The sight of Francis standing a distance from the targets, shooting vicious arrow after arrow at them only further proves the statement.

"Does he usually pound new initiates into the ground?" Alfred asked, rubbing at his sore muscles.

"Alfred, we haven't had a newcomer to all this in years. You just pick it up, nobody ever had formal training," Arthur laughed lightly. It didn't sound real.

"It will be noon soon; you should go eat before the men start having their second servings and wipe everything out."

"You're not hungry?" Alfred asked worriedly, getting up. Arthur had been here as long as Alfred did; if Arthur was even half as famished as Alfred felt right now, he wouldn't be able to make it to dinner. The thought of walking back to camp alone wasn't very appealing either. Maybe if they walked back together, Alfred thought optimistically, Arthur would regain that peaceful look that he was wearing just before.

"No, I've done nothing all morning. I'll stay here." Arthur dropped his gaze from Alfred and looked ahead worriedly. Alfred didn't need to follow his gaze to understand who Arthur was concerned about. For all his snark, Arthur was starting to become quite transparent.

Alfred decidedly did not like the look of worry on Arthur. It didn't suit him very much. His eyes were much too flat and bit by bit, Alfred could see the invisible wall being built right back up.

He wondered if he would ever manage to understand the people in his time here. It was like seeing strangers on the subway every day, Alfred thought, you knew they were people but at the same time, they were people you didn't know. Familiar faces passing by every single day and you never knew, never cared. Alfred didn't want the same thing replicating itself here. With a sinking feeling, Alfred suddenly realised why he wasn't more upset over being abducted to some strange imaginary place.

"You'd better go now, Alfred. I think Edie would be expecting you," Arthur said shortly and Alfred went.

The walk back was slow and lonely. Alfred tried thinking of anything to distract him from analysing his feelings but he couldn't get rid of the heavy depression in his gut. It had to be the hunger getting to him. The growls of his stomach were starting to bring with it an empty ravenous feeling. Alfred was a little bit excited at that. He had never really felt this hungry before. Whenever he even felt the tiniest bit peckish, he'd pop over at the nearest fast-food restaurant and the problem would be solved instantaneously. But this, this was something else altogether.

The smell of food in the air just as Alfred broke into the clearing of the camp was wonderful. There was a steady stream of chatter in the air and all Alfred had to do was to follow the concentration of Narnians before he found the food source. Edie was there and the moment she saw him, she clopped over and pressed a clay bowl of watery broth and bread into his hands.

"That's all we have," Edie said, looking faintly embarrassed, "I wish I could give you better..."

Alfred looked at his portion and the ones the others were getting and all at once, he felt ashamed. He had half a loaf more than others and his bowl was also considerably larger. Suddenly, the quality of the food didn't seem to be the issue any more. He felt his cheeks redden. Everything he ate meant much lesser was given to everybody else.

"It's more than enough!" Alfred assured. "It's too much, actually. You don't need to give me more than the standard. Thanks but I don't feel that hungry." Alfred tensed his stomach just in case it picked this moment to growl.

"You're eating for Arthur," Edie said kindly. "And we need you to train hard for the next few weeks so take this as a reward."

Alfred was once again reminded of when Francis had caught him taking a nap. Guilt had never felt more like slimy tentacles twisting his insides into a knot before.

Edie turned to leave before she remembered something and walked back to Alfred. "I do not know if Arthur had told you this. But we have decided that you will be reclaiming your rightful sword soon. You'll leave in a few weeks so you need to be able to defend yourself, Alfred, more so than anybody else. The Calormenes are not completely impervious to our beliefs. They will be aiming for you once they realise what you are trying to take back. They will know."

Alfred felt another weight being added to the one already inside him. "Will you be coming?" he asked, only to meet the torn look on her face.

"I don't know. Though I expect, I shall have to decide soon enough." Edie replied, "Do not fear, Arthur wouldn't let you go alone even if you wanted to."

That had somewhat soothed most of Alfred's raging anxiety before Edie added, "And I think Francis would follow him as well." All too soon, Alfred found himself sitting quietly on a log as children smiled and grinned at him cheerily as he tore at his bread. There were many things on his mind, most of them hard to put into words. The children in front him, though, asked questions that kept his mind off them, much to the disapproval of their parents.

"Do you like jam?" a boy with horns in his curly mop asked before a girl, with skin so pale she looked white, interjected haughtily with, "I think the prince has tastes far beyond jam." And it would just go on like that. Alfred didn't even have to say much of anything, all of them much happier bickering with each other. All Alfred had manage to glean so far was that 'prince' was what they came up with to call him, because 'king' wasn't right since he wasn't it yet and 'Alfred' was simply too plebeian.

Somehow this made him obnoxiously happy. They didn't say it with mocking, but as a name. And so he gave all of them names. He couldn't remember most of them afterwards but he was sure that he called one of them 'Carrot' because he looked orange. The boy had looked so pleased at his name that Alfred had laughed until the pale girl he called 'Cloud' informed him that 'Carrot' was his real name and it only served to make him laugh harder.

It was an understatement to say that Alfred felt sorry when the parents ushered their offspring away and Alfred was left with nothing else to do but head back to Allies' Enclave to return to his training.

When Alfred returned though, Arthur was gone from the place. Francis, on the other hand, looked considerably more light-hearted and gave Alfred an airy smile while plucking arrows out of the straw targets. Alfred grinned at the display of friendship and commented that he had tried archery back in New York when he had nothing to do over the summer.

Francis rolled his eyes and slid his collected arrows back into his quiver. "You may know how to hold a bow but that doesn't mean you can shoot."

The arrow arced through the air and landed home in the head of the straw target with deadly precision. Alfred scoffed at the blatant display of a challenge. There was just something about this Francis guy that struck him the wrong way. Ever since he got here, all Francis had ever done was to stare at him calculatingly and wait for him to mess up, Alfred thought with increasing rage. That and the fact that Alfred couldn't pull Arthur away for more than a moment before this idiot would saunter in and put him down. He couldn't imagine making this apparently arduous voyage to some castle near the sea to get some pretty sword with this big of an asshole.

While Alfred was having his angry rant inside his head, Francis was still looking at him with a sense of suspicious displeasure. It wasn't long though, until Alfred fumed his way through the cap of the bottle inside his head.

"What the hell is your problem?" Alfred demanded suddenly, harshly.

"I beg your pardon?" Francis said, his eyes narrowed into slits.

"Ever since I've got here, you're either judging me or kicking me into the dust. What problem do you have with me? Huh?" Alfred asked, voice getting louder and brasher.

Francis looked at him coldly, "Arthur puts too much faith into you and he will get hurt for it."

"What?" Alfred asked, suddenly losing his steam, his face switching instantly from annoyance to bewilderment.

"Have you ever considered the importance of your existence to him? Simply by being here, you are already a beacon of hope to everyone and especially him. Circumstances have not changed however, we are still fighting a losing battle except we have one more hungry mouth to feed," Francis said cuttingly, eyes boring into Alfred's, "You stroll in and out without a care in the world and you think it's okay. But when we _lose_, his heart will be broken. Because his one hope he's ever had in his life has failed him. And I don't think I can be there to pick up the pieces to put him back again."

There was silence, an awkward but honest silence. It was awhile before Alfred spoke again and Francis' eyes flicked up from where he was gazing at his boots.

"That is _if_ we lose the battle. Which will not happen."

Alfred gave one last sullen glance before picking up his bow and stalking off to a target, resuming his practice with restrained brutality and focus. Arrows not exactly flying with expert aim, but each one slamming into the target with a forceful thud, rhythmically. Francis stared at Alfred for a few moments before trying to hide an unexpected smirk. The boy had promise.

_Break_


End file.
